Maid of the May
by ArmarielRoZita
Summary: Gandalf tries a bit of matchmaking at the Tuckborough Mayfest...with somewhat unexpected results. Then again, maybe not so unexpected.


**Maid of the May**

I. Two Contestants

Aldo Pease ran through the main street of Tuckborough, waving his chubby arms. The two old hobbits playing checkers in the shade outside the Cat and Cuckoo, grinned and winked at each other.

"Wot's the old toss-pot seen this time?" one said to the other.

"Who knows," said his friend. "Mayhap he fell in the river and come face to face with a blowfish?"

"Or his own reflection," the other chuckled.

Aldo came puffing up, still waving his arms, tripped on a step just outside the tavern and fell on his substantial belly, and the two old hobbits paused in their game to have a huge grin at his expense.

"I seen something fearful strange!" Aldo said, getting to his feet somehow as passers-by turned to look at him with amused curiosity. His greying curls fairly stood on end, both on head and feet. "One of them walkin' trees ye've heard tell of! I seen one!"

He staggered a little, stumbling into the table and knocking the checkerboard awry.

"Now see wot ye done," Ruben Fairbanks grumbled. "Ye cocked up our game-and I was about to win! There was a chance 'a things goin' smoothly, till you showed up."

"Walkin' trees?" Lysander Belch scoffed. "Wot walkin' trees? Sounds like the only call you answered was the cry of the beer-keg, Aldo Pease."

"Why, I been hearin' tales of walkin' trees ever since't I was a lad," Aldo defended himself and standing up straight. "But I've yet to see aught-until just now! And it's a headed this way!"

"How's it look, Aldo?" asked Ruben.

"Tall-tall, like, well, like a tree," Aldo stammered, holding one hand, palm down, as far above his head as possible. "It held one of its branches in its hand, and hang me for a liar if it wasn't wearin' clothes!"

"Clothes!" Ruben and Lysander looked at each other, then at Aldo. "Wot sort?"

"Not like we wears, at least out-of-doors. This was differnt. A robe, in need of washin' and mendin' I must say, with a robe-belt girtin' the middle, and a hat-blue, and tall and pointy, and a mop comin' out its face, and..."

Lysander interrupted his account with a bellow of laughter, Ruben soon following suit.

"That weren't no tree, ye daffy old rumbucket on duck legs," Lysander gasped when he could get his breath. "That's the one they call Gandalf the Wizard. Tell me he ain't back again!"

"Wizard?" Aldo blinked a few times. "Wot's that?"

"Ye means to tell us ye ain't heard tell of the Wizard?" Ruben said with exaggerated incredulity. "Why, I thought everybody'd heard of Gandalf. Didn't you, Lysander?"

"Wot's a wizard then?" Aldo said scratching his head. "Yer havin' me on, ain't yer?"

"It's a feller wot does magic," Lysander said. "He can turn things into other things. So you better not cross him, Aldo Pease, or he's liable to turn yer into a toad, or a pig, or..."

"Or a fish," Ruben said with a wink. "Ye'd like _that_, wouldn't yer? If'n the river was made of ale."

"He's friends with the Thain," Lysander said. "I heard he gave him a set of diment cuff-links that opens and closes."

"I didn't see no cufflinks," Aldo said rubbing his nose with his forefinger, then looking at it in puzzlement. "I don't think he was wearin' no shirt. Just that...robe."

The others laughed once more.

"'Twas the Wizard give 'em to Gerontius, not 'tother way around," Lysander gasped. "'Course, I ain't never seen 'em, meself. Never could get up close enough."

"Likely he only wears 'em for special," Ruben noted. "In which case, he'll likely be wearin' em to the Mayfest next week. Do yer know his eldest daughter Belladonna has come of age, and the singin' will be in her honor this year?"

"Aye, and the winner 'll have his chance to sue for her hand in marriage. Wot yer think about that, Aldo?"

"Huh?" He was still thinking about the Wizard.

"Maybe _you _could try for her, Aldo," Ruben said with a wink. "Yer a fair singer, wot? 'Course, if you was to sing the sort of songs you sing in The Cat and Cuckoo, ye'd get pitched out on yer bum. Ye'd have to come up with somethin' more genteel-like."

"Aye, indeed," Lysander said. "If'n ye was to sing that song ye sung to Flora Knotwise last week, ye might come up missin' a vital part of yer anatomicals, if ye foller my meanin'. I'd take a shot at it meself, but I don't reckon me wife would take it kindly."

"I know wot I seen," Aldo insisted. "And when it gets here, ye'll see wot I mean, and yer won't be so cocky then. Ye...why, 'ere it comes now! Save us!" He began to tremble as he pointed in the distance, where a tall lean figure with a long staff was indeed approaching.

Ruben and Lysander squinted in the direction his chubby finger indicated.

"Why, upon me mother's green plaid shawl and her finest underdrawers," Lysander said. "It IS him. Gandalf the Grey. How long 'as it been since the tall old coot passed this way?"

"Blest if I can remember," Ruben said. "But ye better duck inside the tavern, Aldo. He might not of took kindly to bein' thought of as a walkin' tree. No tellin' wot he's likely to do to yer."

Aldo lost no time taking this sage advice. The other two scarcely even noticed for watching the Wizard.

"He's goin' into Roddy Bunce's pipeweed shop," Ruben noted. "Wot's he got business there fer?"

"He likes his weed same's we do, I reckon," Lysander said taking his own pipe from his vest pocket and studying it fondly. "It sure ain't cuz he's on such friendly terms with Roddy, I should say."

Ruben apparently had no argument with that.

"So," he said, "wot say we finishes our game? Such as 'tis. If we can remember where the pieces go. Remember, I was about to win."

"Might just as well to start over," Lysander said absently, watching until the Wizard disappeared inside the pipeweed shop. "I might even let ye win this un, if'n I'm feelin' generous. But don't count on it."

"Fiddlesticks! Ye stands a better chance of winnin' Miss Belladonna's hand in marriage," Ruben snorted as they collected the scattered checkers.

Roderic Bunce did sell the finest pipeweed in Tuckborough. Which, as far as Gandalf was concerned, was pretty much all he had going for him. That, and the fact that he was a pretty fair hand at making songs. To be sure, most of them were of a rather dubious nature, such as the one with which Aldo had assayed to serenade Miss Knotwise.

"How's about a cup of tea?" he asked as Gandalf paid for the full sweet-smelling pouch. "I got a kettle on the stove right now, and some very nice plum-buns as well."

"Thank you, but I should be on my way," Gandalf said. "I wish to call on an old friend."

"Ah, I bet I know which one," Roddy said, his piggy little eyes twinkling in his fat, ruddy, self-satisfied face. "Old Gerontius, is it?"

"That's the one, and I'd thank you to speak of him with respect," Gandalf said soberly. "He IS the Thain, as you well know."

"Of course he is, and I'll let you in on a little secret," Roddy said lowering his voice, even though there were only the two of them in the room. "He's also my future father-in-law...although he don't know it yet."

He had the audacity to wink. Gandalf drew back, looking at him with distaste.

"Do you mean to tell me," he said, "that you are actually going to try for..."

"That's right," Roddy said with a delighted smirk. "I mean to enter the singing contest this year. And I don't think I'm being too cheeky in saying I've as good a chance to win the fair hand of Miss Belladonna as any other?"

Gandalf looked him over. There was absolutely nothing remarkable about Roderic Bunce's appearance, yet he seemed utterly convinced that he was a fine figure of a hobbit. He did have decent taste in haberdashery, to be sure, and his curls were very neatly combed both upstairs and down. He might even have been fairly agreeable to see, had it not been for the perpetual smirk on his face, but as it was, Gandalf found it hard to look upon him for any length of time.

Surely Belladonna would send him packing, if he ever dared hove into her presence. She was a sensible and spunky lass, and Gandalf was most fond of her. It was with difficulty he repressed a chuckle at the very idea of Roderic Bunce even trying for her hand.

"Well?" Roddy said when no response was forthcoming. "You don't think she could fancy me, do you? Well, wait until you hear the song I've composed for the occasion, and you may just change your mind. I know she likes me already. She doesn't let on, but she's not fooling me any."

"You truly think so?"

"I know so. She looks at me like...like she'd like to cut my throat, but she's not fooling me. She knows it's not ladylike to betray her true feelings, that's all."

Gandalf was set to flounce out the door, but morbid curiosity got the better of him.

"I think I will take you up on your offer of tea, after all," he said.

Soon they were sitting at a small table in back of the room. Gandalf took the opportunity of having a smoke, while the tea brewed in the pot and an elderly hobbitess trotted out a plate of pleasant-smelling pastries.

"So," Roddy said as he took up a bun and bit into it,"what brings you to these parts, Gandalf the Grey? You're not minded to participate in the singing-contest yourself?"

Gandalf spewed the hot tea onto his plum-bun.

"You are joking, right?" he said taking out a handkerchief to wipe up the mess.

"Well, of course I was," Roddy sniggered. "Although, certainly, you could do worse, and you've been cosying up to old-the Thain-for a considerable long time, haven't you? You do think Miss Belladonna right plummy, don't you?"

He actually had a dreamy look on his face as he spoke her name, and Gandalf quickly forgot his outrage at the insinuation in his disbelief at the hobbit's audacity.

"She's a comely lass indeed," Gandalf said, "but I dare say I'm just a bit too tall for her, wouldn't you say?"

"But you're a wizard," Roddy pointed out. "You could make yourself smaller, or her taller, whichever you'd prefer...couldn't you?"

He actually looked at bit worried then, considering the possibility.

"At least on the wedding-night," he amended, "and perhaps...evenings. If you know what I mean."

"I've no intention of marrying any time soon," Gandalf said loftily. "So you needn't fear any competition from me."

"Of course, of course," Roddy got his bearings and poured himself more tea. "So. I've competion already, to be sure. I hear Hugo Boffin is going to try. Did you ever hear such impudence?"

"Why shouldn't he?" Gandalf said. "I'm not acquainted with Hugo Boffin, I fear. Who is he?"

"Why, he's a young tailor," Roddy said, "as come here recently-he's not from these parts. Not rightly sure where he's from, actually. Just not from around here. And he's a young whelp of a feller, too young for her, surely. Not even of age yet. She needs someone older, she does, who can take her in hand when she gets sassy. She likes to have her own way, y'know, and she'd walk all over young Boffin like a rug. He's not in her league at all, let me tell you."

"And you are, I suppose," Gandalf said sipping pensively at his cup. "What of his singing?"

"Oh, it's fair enough," Roddy said, lowering his voice once more. "But I've fixed things. You see, he came to me one day, and asked me if he could run his song by me, and see what I thought of it. Well, he done so, and I made, well, a few suggestions. And he thanked me, and wrote 'em down, and went his way. Ha! He doesn't stand a chance! He doesn't know I'm entering the contest myself!"

And Roddy brought a beefy fist down so hard on the table that his cup fairly jumped out of its saucer, and laughed so shrilly, Gandalf was tempted to cover his ears.

"Hugo Boffin," he said after a long moment, as Roddy pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose rather loudly, without troubling to turn his back. "A tailor, is he? Where is his establishment? I should like to pay him a visit. I've a rent in my robe."

"It's just down the road a piece," Roddy said through handkerchief, which he then stuffed carelessly back into his breeches pocket. "Go a couple blocks, then turn down left at Brown's Lane, and there you are. But don't you want to hear my song first?"

"Some other time, perhaps," Gandalf said rising. "Thank you for tea."

"You'll not tell him what I said, will you?" Roddy said lowering his voice again.

"Not a word," Gandalf said as he brushed the crumbs from his robe. "Perhaps I'll have a new robe made, at that. This one has most definitely seen better days. I need to be better dressed to attend the Mayfest, surely."

"So you're going?" Roddy said. "You'll hear all the songs then. And you'll see what I've been talking about."

"Aye, that I will," the Wizard agreed, and turned to go.

"I suppose I shall have to break it off with Miss Porphyria Button," Roddy said with feigned regret. "I hope she won't take it too much to heart. But one must think of the future, and I can scarcely imagine a future with the likes of a mere barmaid. She's gotten awfully fat anyway, and she was never that good-looking to begin with. She oughtn't to let herself go like that, silly cow-at least not for a good many years yet, after she catches herself a husband. It's lucky she has no father nor brothers for me to deal with, just that bloated old sow of a mother of hers. That's reason enough to break it off with her right there."

_She'll be well rid of you,_ Gandalf thought, yet at the same time turned to look sternly at Roddy.

"Does it not occur to you she has feelings?" he said. Roddy looked startled.

"Why, so we all have," he said. "And she'll find someone else soon enough. Someone more of her sort. There's hobbits common as dirt parading in and out of The Cat and Cuckoo; she'll snag one of 'em some fine day, and I'll not begrudge her. But I must think of the future."

"Well then, I shall leave you to it," Gandalf said, and with that he flurried out the door, resolving to go elsewhere for his pipeweed next time, however inferior it might be.

Hugo Boffin was older than he looked, about thirty-five. He was quite handsome, with his light-brown curls, regular features, and warm brown eyes, and Gandalf took a liking to him at first sight.

"I can have you a new suit of clothes inside of the week, sir," Hugo said with a glance at Gandalf's hat, which the Wizard held down at his side. "It's an unusual order, to be sure, but-"

"I'm sure you could," Gandalf said, "but truly, all I need is a new robe. Very like this one, and of the same color. Do you think you could manage that?"

"I could, and 'twould be far simpler," Hugo said, "but...for Mayfest, wouldn't you like a cheerfuller color? Like green, for instance. I've a new roll of linsey-woolsy in a very nice shade of green. Hobbits rarely wear grey, you understand."

He brought out the bolt of cloth. It was, indeed a pleasing shade of muted green, rather like the mossy water in a forest pool.

"The color becomes you, I think," Hugo said holding the fabric up close to Gandalf's face. "Look over there, in the glass."

"It will do very nicely," Gandalf said after examining his reflection on the round cheval mirror the tailor indicated..

"You will be the best-dressed Wizard there," Hugo joked. Gandalf chuckled.

Hugo had to get a high stool in order to take the Wizard's measurements, and this done, Gandalf saw fit to bring up the subject of the singing-contest.

"Aye, I'm going to enter," the young tailor said. "You don't think it presumptuous of me? Being so new in town and all?"

"Nay, why should I?" Gandalf said. "And you've written a song already?"

"I have," Hugo said. "And I'm most smitten with Miss Took. She's the fairest creature I ever set eyes upon. The birds hush their singing when she speaks, and the stream flows more slowly when she walks beside it, the better to admire her beauty and grace. I can scarcely hope that she would ever bestow a glance upon me...and yet, I can but try. Do you truly think I stand a chance? I sang my song for Roderic Bunce, that chap who owns the pipeweed shop, and he said 'twas wonderful, and she'd fall into my arms the moment she heard it. I think he was exaggerating, but you know he's a pretty fair songwriter himself, and so his praise means something, wouldn't you say?"

"Perhaps you should sing it for me?" Gandalf said drawing his bushy eyebrows close over his beaky nose.

"Oh no sir, I couldn't," Hugo said blushing a little. "Roddy said I shouldn't sing it for anyone but her, for that would, you know, rub off the bloom from it."

Gandalf laid a thoughtful hand over his mouth for a moment. Hugo looked innocent, but not stupid. He surely couldn't believe that braying jackass of a tobacconist had his best interest at heart?

"Well, but you know I am a Wizard," Gandalf said with a careful hint of a smile. "And so if any bloom gets rubbed off, I can surely put it back on for you."

Hugo's boyish face blossomed into a radiant smile. "Let me get my cittern then," he said and disappeared into another room. Soon he returned with the instrument cradled on one arm. He sat down in a large chair and carefully tuned the strings, then cleared his throat.

"You are sure you wish to hear this?" he said.

"Very sure," Gandalf said. "I am no expert in music, but I flatter myself that I could deliver a reasonably well-thought-out criticism of the text."

"I would much appreciate it," Hugo said with becoming modesty. "There's a couple of verses that I will admit am a bit doubtful of. They are the ones Roddy suggested, as a matter of fact."

"You know he's going to enter the contest also, right?" Gandalf said. He had promised Roderic not to tell, but it slipped out, and he was not altogether sorry.

"Is he?" Hugo said, nearly letting the cittern fall from his lap. "I thought he was going to wed Miss Button. He hinted strongly of it to me. You are sure of this?"

"Absolutely," Gandalf said. "Not that he's likely to win. If I know Miss Belladonna Took, she wouldn't spit on him if he were on fire."

"You don't suppose..." Hugo looked puzzled and bewildered.

"Sing me the song," Gandalf said.

"You've heard his?"

"Nay, I haven't. But go ahead and run yours by me."

Hugo picked up the cittern once more, struck a chord, and begin to sing in his agreeable tenor voice:

_I've spied a maid most fair_

_with a fall of night-dark hair_

_and ring-a-lets to spare_

_Miss Belladonna Took!_

_Her cheeks are soft and pink_

_her skin's like milk to drink_

_her eyes, stars dipped in ink_

_Miss Belladonna Took!_

_Her step is light and airy_

_she dances like a fairy_

_my heart beats most contrary_

_when I upon her look!_

"I know it's not a perfect rhyme," Hugo said pausing in his singing, "'look' not quite rhyming with 'Took' but I couldn't come up with many words that would be fitting. Just 'duke' and 'puke' and 'fluke', and you can see why those most certainly wouldn't do. I thought to pronounce it as 'luke' but it sounded rather silly. Do you think she'd mind?"

"Of course not," Gandalf said, "as long as it all comes from the heart. Is that all?"

"There's more," Hugo said and began strumming once again.

_I'd fight bravely for her honor_

_let no slur fall upon her_

_my peerless Belladonna_

_She'll never be forsook!_

_I'd jump right in the river_

_where I would shake and shiver_

_before that I would give her_

_To any other bloke!_

_I-_

"Hold!" Gandalf shouted raising a hand palm outward. "What in the name of..."

"That's the part I had misgivings about," Hugo said blushing once more. "So...you don't think it's good? and that maybe he knew it too, and, and..."

"Misgivings? Hah!" Gandalf snorted. "My dear Master Hugo, you don't look a complete fool, yet you would let that oaf make a laughingstock of you. Could you not see it?"

"Why, that...that...blackguard, that..." Hugo's cheeks grew very red indeed. "So he meant to see to it that I didn't stand a chance? What an idiot I was! Whatever shall I do? I'm so thankful you came by!"

"Sing the rest of it for me," Gandalf said, a slow grin forming on his face. "She'll never give him the time of day, you needn't worry on that score, no matter how good his song may be. But we can get him back, just the same. I have an idea."

II. Three Sisters

"I'll not do it," Belladonna declared, as the Took girls sat under the trees outside of the Great Smial that was their home. The two elder girls sat on a wicker seat beneath a great oak, while the youngest was in a swing. All wore white dresses embroidered with colorful flowers, and made a most charming picture against the backdrop of the garden blooming with lilacs and tulips and pansies and wisteria and honeysuckles. "I'm blest if I'm going to sit up there on that platform, on display like some prize heifer on the auction block! Father will have to find himself another victim, I'm not having any."

Belladonna was not truly beautiful in the usual sense, but she had an uncanny trick of making folk think otherwise. She had a plumpish, well-formed figure already, and a truly amazing head of glossy dark curls falling to her waist, and it seemed to have a life of its own, bouncing and flowing with her every movement, and taking all manner of rich shades in the sunlight, forming a fetching widow's-peak on her wide forehead. Her dark eyes seemed an extension of her hair, glowing with life and mischief and intelligence and humor, her nose turned up very slightly at the tip, her ruddy lips more often than not drawn back to show slightly imperfect teeth and unexpected dimples in the corners. And her nearly flawless complexion supplied any lack that her features may have presented.

Donnamira was very similar in coloring and feature, only not so well filled out, and there was an anxiety and self-consciousness about her, a puzzled air, that diminished her especially when alongside of her sister. She was but four years younger, and she admired Belladonna immensely, even if she did not always understand her. Bella was a force of nature, and all were drawn to her, Donna more than anyone else.

Mirabella, who was only nineteen and not yet interested in lads or suitors, was quite unlike her older sisters. She was actually the prettiest of them all, with curls of a beautiful light reddish brown, a sprinkling of freckles across her delicately pointed nose, and a rosebud mouth that often quirked up with gentle secret mirth. But the most striking thing of all about her was her enormous blue eyes, which often seemed to see what no one else could. When someone mentioned the tale of the Tooks' fairy ancestress, others unconsciously looked to Mira as if she were living proof of the legend.

"But Bella," Donnamira protested, "you would be like unto a queen upon her throne. Suitors will come and ply for your hand, and sing wondrous songs in your favor. I would fling myself off a _bridge_ for such an honor! What is _wrong _with you?"

"Oh, I've a fair idea who will be doing the singing," Belladonna said with a scornful toss of her abundant curls. "For one, that hateful Roderic Bunce, from the pipeweed shop. He's been making sheep's-eyes at me for weeks on end, for all I've done not one thing to encourage him. I wouldn't fling myself off a tack for him."

"Ugh," Donnamira shuddered. "Yet they say he's got a way with a song."

"Oh, I've heard some of _his_ songs. In the Cat and Cuckoo that time. And-"

"The Cat and Cuckoo! When were you ever in there?"

"Why, didn't I tell you? Hildibrand and I snuck in one night. We were just young 'uns then. We wanted to see what it was like, and so I sat on his shoulders and we covered ourselves with a blanket. Then we hid under the long tables and listened."

"Oh Bella, how naughty!" Donnamira looked at her sister with shocked wide eyes and pursed lips. "What did you hear?" she added just above a whisper.

Belladonna laughed, and after a moment, her sisters laughed also. It was nigh impossible not to laugh when Belladonna did.

"I'll tell you some other time," she said with a wink. "But anyway, I'm not going to be subjected to that sort of humiliation. What is Father thinking, anyway?"

"Surely there are other suitors as well. Lots of them, and much less horrid than Roddy."

"Which isn't saying very much. But still I shan't do it, and that's all about it. Not even if a king should come and throw himself at my feet."

Donnamira sighed. "So what of Father? Won't he be angry?"

"I can get around him," Belladonna said. "Don't I always?"

"I only wish 'twere me, in your place," Donnamira said. "I-"

"Yes!" cried Belladonna, jumping to her feet and spilling her tea, which she had barely touched, on her skirt. Donnamira gasped. "That's _it_! You take my place. You look enough like me that folks wouldn't know if they didn't see you close up, yes?"

Mirabella's little mouth dropped open wide and her swing began to decrease in the wideness of its arc. Donnamira stared at her older sister in wide-eyed consternation. Belladonna scrubbed at her skirt with a handkerchief, muttering, "Botheration!"

"Bella, are you _serious_?" Donna exclaimed. "I couldn't pass for you. The idea! Mother would have fits. And Father..."

"They wouldn't know. Just wear my dress, and take my feather-fan and hold it to your face-you've seen how it's done. You look very like me from the back, and they'd be sitting behind you. You could be the one to have suitors trolling their amorous serenades to you, and I could watch them make fools of themselves. It would be great fun! Come, let's do it!"

"But...but...Bella, look at you. I couldn't wear your dress, sister, it would hang on me. Folks would know, and..."

"We can stuff the dress. All we'd have to do is find something to use for bosoms. Let me see, we could use apples, or..."

"It's too early for apples," Donnamira pointed out.

"Plums?"

"They might burst, and stain my clothing."

"Not if they're dried."

"Prunes for bosoms? I guess not!"

"I'm only teasing, Donna," Bella laughed. "What about..."

"Pine cones?" Mirabella spoke up, leaping gracefully out of the swing and landing on her feet as neatly as a cat. She ran over to a pine-tree and picked up several cones of varying sizes and filled her apron with them, then darted back, beaming.

"That might work," Belladonna said. "Let's see if we can find two of the right size..."

"Pine cones!" Donnamira moaned. "The idea! I don't want anyone singing about how my bosoms are like unto _pine cones_, of all things. That's worse than prunes."

Belladonna laughed. "None would, Donna. Rude songs aren't allowed in the contest."

"I know, but they might sing them in The Cat and Cuckoo. It would be just hideous, and Father would be mortified."

"All right, forget the pine cones. We'll think of something else. Come, it will be great fun!"

"Very well then," Donnamira said with a little sigh, yet her eyes began to twinkle with excitement even so. "Mira, you won't tell, will you dearie?"

"Nay, I won't," Mirabella said. She never told, which was why her sisters had been discussing their plan in her presence in the first place. There was a spark of mischief in her despite her seeming ethereality, and she enjoyed being in on things.

Just then their one younger brother, Isengar, ran out into the yard, and the two elder sisters suddenly fell to gaily discussing the Mayfest and all the nice things that would take place. Mirabella ran off to play with Isengar on the long narrow beam that was fastened on two high stands for them to walk upon, and Belladonna and Donnamira walked arm in arm back to the smial...where Bella whispered something into Donna's ear that made the younger sister's eyes fairly pop out of her head.

III. Two Plans

Gandalf's new robe was nearly finished. He said he could do the hemming of it himself; he carried about a needle and thread always to do mending jobs on his clothing, which frequently tore on his treks in the wild. Hugo let him do so, having much other work to do, what with last-minute jobs people brought to him. And with working on his song to improve it.

"I'm highly nervous," he confessed as he stitched at a fancy waistcoat, and Gandalf sat across from him, hemming the green robe, which was quite a handsome piece of work, after all. "It's just two days away. Are you sure our plan will work?"

Before Gandalf could reassure him, a hobbit came into the shop with a garment in his hands. Hugo laid down the waistcoat and rose.

"May I help you, sir?" he asked.

"Aye, I've nearly ripped the lining out of this jacket," the hobbit said. He was approaching middle age, with just a streak or two of grey in his thick brown curls, which framed a genial face that glowed with quiet humor, intelligence and character. "You were recommended to me heartily, Master Boffin...and besides, you are related to me, whether you know it or not. Your grandfather and my grandmother were brother and sister. Bungo Baggins, at your service, sir."

An hour later all three were seated about a dinner-table, merrily discussing the Mayfest. Hugo had found a low stool for Gandalf, so that his knees should not be absurdly sticking up above the table-top.

"Nearly everyone is related to each other in the Shire, Master Gandalf," Bungo was saying. "I've all manner of kinsfolk I've never met, some I never will meet, and some I wish I'd never met. I live near Hobbiton. I'm a vintner by trade, and have come down on business, largely to supply wine for the upcoming festival."

"Don't they have the Mayfest in Hobbiton, then?" Gandalf asked.

"Aye, they do, but my brother Longo sees to that one," Bungo said. "I say, these rolls are delicious, cousin. Who does the cooking for you?"

"Why, I do it all myself," Hugo said in surprise.

"You cook as well as you sew, then," Bungo said. "What a wife you would make someone."

Hugo laughed uncertainly.

"He is going to try for the hand of..." Gandalf hesitated. "Or was I not supposed to tell?"

"It's all right, you may tell," Hugo said. "I am trying for the hand of Miss Belladonna Took. The fairest and loveliest maid in all the land."

Bungo's jaw, which had been working a capital piece of roast beef, suddenly stopped in its chewing.

"Are you now?" he asked softly, after swallowing.

"Oh, I know it's foolish of me," Hugo said, his cheeks pinking brightly. "But, well, faint heart never won fair lady, as they say. And Gandalf has been helping me to fix my song, and I am far more confident now than before. You have heard of Miss Belladonna, Mister Baggins?"

"I have," Bungo said, still softly. "In fact, I have met her. I have done much business with her father."

"Is she not magnificent?" Hugo sighed. "I have not really met her, save in passing. But I have worshipped her from afar, for weeks on end. I can scarcely believe that soon I will be face to face with the most bewitching creature in all the Shire."

Gandalf looked thoughtfully at Bungo. Some of the animation seemed to have forsaken his face, and his appetite appeared to have deserted him as well. He was not even looking at his plate now.

"I don't suppose you are going to participate in the contest, Mr. Baggins?" the Wizard asked gently.

"Ah, dear me, no," Bungo said, a bit startled. "I was a pretty fair singer once, but then someone came along and invented tunes, and then I was done for, music-wise."

He chuckled mirthlessly. Hugo looked vastly relieved.

"I'm far too old for her anyway," Bungo added. "I dare say I'm a confirmed old bachelor, and likely to remain so."

"You don't look so old as all that," Gandalf said, and Hugo looked slightly alarmed. "What are you...about sixty?"

"More or less," Bungo said. "I could be Miss Belladonna's father, I'm sure. I'd best leave her to the younger fellows."

"That's not so old. And you're not at all bad to look at. You'd stand a chance...with some lady a bit older than Miss Belladonna, I'm sure," Gandalf added, looking kindly at Hugo, who blushed and looked down at his plate.

"Well, if I do, it won't be along of my singing-voice," Bungo said, with sadness in his hazel eyes. "I do knock off a bit of poetry now and then. Just trifles, you know. But I never once thought to put any to music. That's most certainly not in my department."

"I dare say you've more music in your soul than you realize, Bungo Baggins," Gandalf said. "And someday you'll find it."

"Well, you know what they say," Bungo said with a melancholy smile. "Every worm has his weak place."

"I hadn't heard that one before," Gandalf said smiling back. "I'll have to remember it."

The following day, after Bungo had picked up his repaired jacket from the tailor-shop, Gandalf excused himself, picked up his finished green robe, and followed the older hobbit out into the street. Bungo was walking with his head down and his hands stuffed in his pockets in a dejected attitude.

"It's her, isn't it," the Wizard said as he caught up with the small fellow. "You fancy Miss Belladonna also."

"Very much so," Bungo said. " But you see what I'm up against. She'd never look upon me as aught but a friend of her family."

"You know her, then,"

"I've spoken with her on several occasions. She's the first and only maiden I've ever managed to have a halfway intelligent conversation with. She's a most interesting talker, considering she's not been outside of Tuckborough. Which is likely why I'm unmarried to this day. Conversation is important to me. I don't like to waste my time in frivolous chit-chat. And I can talk with Miss Belladonna as if she were my sister...but I don't feel toward her as a brother. Not in the slightest. No...far from it."

"Perhaps she does like you," Gandalf suggested. "I dare say she likes intelligent conversation as much as you, and there aren't many hobbits here who have mastered that art as you have."

"Do you really think so?" Hope flickered in Bungo's eyes. "But...well, you've seen what I'm up against. We've had dinner with one of them just yesterday. I-"

"Hugo Boffin? He's a nice fellow, but not her sort at all. I think you are far better suited to her than he. And somehow or other, you've got to let her know it."

"But how? Really, I know naught of courting at all. I'd be wretched at it. And I couldn't carry a tune if 'twere bleeding to death...as it would indeed, if I were to get nigh it. And-"

"Perhaps I can help," Gandalf said. "You say you've written some poetry?"

"Aye. But it's two days until the Mayfest. Even if I could make tunes, there's no time to turn out anything halfway decent."

"We'll see about that. Where are you staying?"

"At the Great Smials. Which is where she lives, as you may know already. So we could do naught there, without her getting wind of it. Some of her elder brothers still live there, along with their families, and we'd have not a bit of privacy."

"Leave everything to me," Gandalf said with a twinkle.

IV. Three Songs

The platform was built high above the crowd, fairly smothered in roses. A chair had been set up on it, and all around the bottom was hung with white sheets and colored streamers. Along with a sign that said MAID OF THE MAY painted in bright pink letters and bedizened about with gaudy flowers and curlicues and butterflies.

All about the platform were long tables loaded with food and drink. Barrels of ale and wine stood nearby, and hobbits selling candies, baked goods, fruits, flowers, and jars of jelly and jam, others roasting fowls and hunks of beef on spits. A tall pole stood behind, crowned atop with flowers and streamers blowing in the breeze, and musicians nearby playing gay tunes and many hobbits of all ages dancing. Some danced in a ring, graceful and sprightly, while others danced by themselves and still more with partners. And further off, but near the platform were risers on which some folk were already gathered, mostly children.

Gandalf stood off with Bungo and Hugo. He wore his new green robe, and he held a large bag slung over one shoulder, and he grinned to himself as he imagined what effect the contents would have on the merrymakers.

Bungo had eyes for only one young lady, and he stood smiling at something far off in the crowd.

"Hey!" a voice shouted out, and the three of them turned to see Roderic Bunce standing behind them, a mug of ale in one hand, and a stringed instrument hanging from his free arm. "Are you chaps ready to get trounced?"

"And who might you be?" he added when he saw Bungo. "You think you got a chance with Miss Belladonna too?"

"Had quite a drop in, haven't you?" Bungo said, eyeing him with distaste.

"Ah, he's always like this," Gandalf chuckled, "be he drunk or sober. Hullo, Roderic. You look in fine fettle today. This is Bungo Baggins from Hobbiton. Bungo, this is Roderick Bunce, who sells the finest pipeweed in Tookland."

"Aye, I've seen you before," Bungo said. "And heard your songs. I can only hope you came up with a better one for the contest."

Roderic laughed raucously, then hiccuped. "Well, we'll just see if I did or not," he said, then took a long swig from his mug, nearly spilling a bit down his front, then belched. "Aren't you fellows going to wet your whistles also?"

"We've done so already," Hugo said coolly. "And we don't wish to enter the contest in a state of intoxication. I somehow doubt that would go down well with Miss Belladonna's father."

Roderic caught his eye, and some of the cockiness seemed to evaporate from his manner. He looked to Gandalf with lifted eyebrows. The Wizard pretended not to see.

"Of course not," Roddy said after a moment. "That's why I'm going easy on it, meself."

"I can see that," Gandalf said dryly. Hugo chuckled, then abruptly stopped himself. A hobbit had climbed upon the platform with a large cone-shaped object, which he held to his mouth.

"Your attention, good hobbits," he called through the megaphone. "Quiet, please! The event you all have been waiting for is about to commence-the annual Song-contest of Tuckborough. And the winner will have his chance to woo and win the hand of Miss Belladonna Took, daughter of our beloved Thain himself, Gerontius Took the First! If you will all finish up what you are doing and take your seats upon the risers in an orderly fashion! Quiet, please! The Contest is about to begin!"

It was nearly a quarter of an hour before the crowd had situated itself in the risers, the vendors closing up their booths, the musicians settling down...and Thain Gerontius Took and his very plump wife established in their seats at the end of the long platform. The contestants began donning the white masks and black cloaks they would wear to perform their songs, in a tent prepared for them. Gandalf went with them to give assistance and encouragement.

"What you got in that bag, eh Wizard?" one of the masks and cloaks asked...in an all too familiar voice.

"Never you mind that, Roderic Bunce," Gandalf said. "You'll see, in good time...if you don't pass out first."

"Are you sayin' I'm drunk?" growled the voice. "Well, I think you'll find out different pretty soon...and you'll be eatin' your words, so you better keep 'em soft."

"Very well then," Gandalf said. "You've the back of your cloak stuck in the waistband of your breeches, by the way."

Roddy glared at him for a moment, and while he did so, Bungo reached over and pulled out the end of the cloak.

"That's better," he said. Roddy looked disgruntled beneath the mask, and Gandalf restrained a guffaw with difficulty.

Then he stepped out to see if the maiden of honor had ascended the platform yet, and saw a female figure being escorted by two males. The sun was directly behind them so it was hard to make out exactly who the male figures were, but Gandalf quickly deduced that they were two of Belladonna's brothers. A cheer rose up from the crowd, which was now pretty much situated on the risers. Gandalf smiled and went back into the tent.

"Stop acting shy," Hildibrand whispered to his sister as he and Isembard escorted her down the catwalk that led to the platform. "Don't droop your head like that."

"But folks will see my face, and know I'm not Bella," Donnamira whispered back. "And I've seen her act shy a time or two."

"Then it _was _acting, to be sure," Isembard said with a little snort. "Here, take this fan and hold it before your face. And act like her. Within reason, that is."

The Thain and his wife looked proudly at their offspring, then Mrs. Took frowned a little.

"Why's our Belladonna wearing that lace shawl?" she queried. "The Maid of May never wore such before. It's all I can do to try and get Bella to wear her shawl when it's cold."

"Well, you know our Bella," Gerontius whispered back. "She's never been one to do all that the others do. Mayhap it's her way of standing out."

"She's shivering, I declare. Yet it's not a bit cold."

"Perhaps she's nervous. Which isn't like our Bella, either."

"To think she's to get a suitor, at last," Mrs. Took said with a sentimental sigh. "And only yesterday she was our wild lass, into one scrape and out of another, makin' a name for herself. Things are changing, aren't they, Geri? Who do you think will win?"

"Well Addie, how would I know?" Gerontius said. "I don't even know who all will be trying out. Nobody tells me these things. What do I matter anyway? I'm naught but her father, after all."

The hobbit with the megaphone, which as it turned out was the eldest of the Took lads, Isengrim the Third, stepped forward as his brothers led their sister to her place of honor. One of them placed a long-stemmed red rose in her lap. She fluttered her fan and glanced coyly, yet nervously about.

Isengrim took out a piece of folded paper from his vest-pocket and unfolded it, squinting at it in the strong sunlight. Then he looked up and beamed at the audience, saying, "The first contestant will step forward and begin his song. Let the contest commence to begin!"

The line of contestants stood to one side of the platform, each wearing a placard bearing a number about his neck. Number Two pushed Number One forward, as he hesitated. Finally Number One took his place upon a very small platform placed before the large one, nodded to the little band of musicians standing just beneath it where the sheet "curtain" was parted, and they began to play, as Number One sang.

_Ah, 'tis time for Maying and playing and swaying_

_and dancing beneath the blue sky above_

_'tis time for mooning and crooning and spooning_

_Fairest of fair ones, 'tis the season of love!_

_Fa la la la la! Fa la la la lira!_

_'Tis time for wooing and cooing and strewing_

_and the song of the cuckoo, the lark and the dove_

_'tis time for singing and ringing and springing_

_Fairest of fair ones, 'tis the season of love!_

_Fa la la la la! Fa la la la lira!_

"Remus Diggle," whispered Number Two to the other contestants. "None other sways from side to side like that when he sings."

The song concluded and drew much applause. Gandalf glanced at Bungo as Remus took his bow and stepped down from the small platform.

"Which one is Roderic Bunce?" Hugo whispered to Gandalf as Number Two took his place on the platform. The Wizard held up seven fingers. Hugo was Number Six, while Bungo was Eleven. He kept trying to move around the large platform the better to see his lady-love, while Gandalf laid a firm hand on his shoulder to hold him back.

"I fear we'll not get away with this," the hobbit whispered as Number Three took his place. "I'll never get to even see Miss Belladonna again, let alone woo her. This was a bad idea."

"Relax," Gandalf said. "Didn't I say leave all to me?"

"But the idea of Hildebrand singing for me! Won't the Thain recognize his own son's voice?"

"I think not. He doesn't pay much attention to Hildebrand's doings, at least when it comes to music. And we'll tell him all about it afterward, and explain that it was your song Hildibrand sang, and Gerontius will be greatly pleased, I'm sure."

"And if he's not?"

"Well, then we'll just have to come up with something else, won't we? Now stop fretting, Bungo Baggins, and listen to the song. It's almost Hugo's turn."

Number Five was up now. And as he was singing, Gandalf stole a look at the young hobbitess and gasped. Then over at Hildibrand in his cloak and mask.

He thought to speak but not one single word would come forth.

And now it was Hugo's turn. Gandalf made a move to stop him, but too late.

"Bungo," he whispered turning to the hobbit of that name, as Hugo mounted the platform, "look at her. Don't say aught. Just look, if you please."

"Great heavens above," Bungo whispered despite himself.

And turned and bolted.

_Through the night the stars are gleaming_

_like to a thousand sparkling gems_

_my heart doth rejoice at the thought of your voice_

_that fills all the night with happy dreaming..._

_It seems that your eyes bejewel the canopy of space_

_and the deep dark sheen of your hair_

_the moon cannot dare to begin to compare _

_with the brilliance of your face..._

_Your laughter rings like the shimmer of faery chimes_

_as you move as lightly as a cloud upon the day_

_Your eyes so far above me, how could I ever hope_

_to believe they would ever glance my way?_

_All I can bestow on thee is this, my heart, my song_

_and the promise to adore thee evermore_

_To shield and protect, to love my whole life long_

_Will you not bend to me as a willow by the shore_

_and hear my humble plea? _

Donnamira sat motionless, held prisoner by the sound of the voice below. It was full of dew and honey and cream and wine and night air and fruit and rainbows and barley-sugar, and it filled her and filled her until she was overflowing, and she forgot where she was, who she was supposed to be, and she gazed until she could not sit still any more, but had to lean down closer the better to see his eyes. She could see they were brown and soulful as her own, and it scarcely mattered what the rest of him looked like, so caught up was she in those eyes and that voice and his lovely, lovely song. And even as she listened, her life slowly turned upside down. She was transforming into a whole other being, as surely as if a fairy were standing behind her pouring golden burning dust over her. All anxiety and puzzlement evaporated from her as mist in the sun, and she forgot to hold the fan before her face, and her eyes and the eyes of the singer met and held, and he looked startled and paused briefly and there was a deafening silence that lasted for a second, perhaps...and then he took up the song once more.

As it concluded, there was once more a brief silence, then thundering applause. The singer bowed deeply and kissed his hand to Donnamira, and she kissed hers to him, the being who had turned her life upside down in the space of a few minutes.

"What the..." Gerontius gasped, making a move to stand. "She wasn't supposed to..."

"I've a feeling he's the one. Sit down now, Geri, don't make a scene. You know our Belladonna. She just cannot be trusted not to do the unexpected. And what of his song? Lovely! I'm nigh smitten myself!"

"Get hold of yourself, Addie," Gerontius looked at his wife in distinct alarm.

Isengrim stepped forward once more to announce Number Six, who gave Number Five a smirk as he passed, then made an attempt to mount the platform, only to stagger back and nearly fall on his backside. Number Five caught him by the arm and made a motion to assist him onto the platform, at which Number Six angrily jerked his arm away and made a hissing noise, then tried once more, this time successfully.

Number Five, grinning, walked back to the group of singers, with one more look up to the young maiden upon the high platform. Smiling, he took his original place.

And number Six began to sing.

_Her cheeks are soft and pink_

_like roses she doth stink_

_her eyes are dipped in ink_

_Miss Belladonna Took!_

_Her lips are sweet as honey_

_her eyes are bright as money_

_she's soft as ary bunny_

_Miss Belladonna Took!_

_I'd toss 'er in the river_

_where she would shake and shiver_

_before that I would give her_

_To any other bloke!_

_I'd pound 'im into jelly_

_till he was foul and smelly_

_i'd punch 'im in the belly_

_and on 'im I would puke! _

Quite an uproar was brewing in the crowd, as Hugo stared at him. This was the trick Gandalf was playing upon him? Certainly the fellow deserved it, but still...

Two of the Took brothers had strode up to the small platform, grabbed Roderic by the arms, and were forcibly removing him as the crowd yelled and booed and shouted him down.

"Drunken bugger! How dare you sully our sister's honor? You'll pay for this, you audacious villain! We'll toss you to the hogs!"

The other tore away his mask. "Bunce," he spat. "I might have known. How you can even have the cheek to think she'd let you within hollering distance of her! That's an outrage even for you!"

"Have mercy, lads," pleaded Roddy, not even trying to extricate himself. "I was tricked. That is not the song I meant to sing a-tall. There was another, far different, not that one, another one, a lovely song, much better than that other chap's, that I meant for to sing. I..."

"Why, of course," Hildebrand scoffed. "I suppose you'd like to sing it now, wouldn't you?"

"Why yes, if I may," whined Roddy, clasping his hands pathetically and sinking to his knees. "I was tricked, I tell you. I-"

Isembard laughed aloud. "Go on with you, you blithering swine with a frog's voice, and serenade your own kind. You-"

"Pardon me, fellows, if I may be so bold," Hugo cut in, "but this poor wretch WAS tricked, and it was in part my fault, for I was privy to it and did naught to stop it."

"Hugo Boffin?" Hildebrand said.

"Aye," Hugo said removing his mask. "You see...the song he sang was mine, originally, and he had tricked me into adding some verses. Not so bad as the ones he sang, but rather poor, at that. I told Gandalf, and he said he knew of a way to get revenge. And I agreed to it. But I regret it now, for the prank went much too far. It was cruel, and I'm deeply sorry now that I agreed to it. Please do not be too hard on the fellow, good sirs."

"Where IS Gandalf?" Isembard asked.

"Hidden somewhere, I think," Hugo said. "But I should think he would have come out by now. And where is Miss Belladonna? For that is not she, up there. It is her sister Donnamira, is it not?"

"Aye, we knew of it," Hildebrand said. "Bella didn't want to be paraded before one and all, and so she persuaded Donna to take her place. She's notional like that. I am sorry, Mister Boffin. But..."

"No need for apology, Master Took. For a wondrous thing has happened. I have become most taken with Miss Donnamira. It was as if a love-spell had been cast upon me. When I saw her eyes, I knew it was not Belladonna, and yet..."

He glanced up once more at Donnamira, who was leaning over the rail looking anxiously down at the scene.

And as Hugo looked up at her, she smiled, and seemed irradiated all over, every bit as lovely as her sister, and then some.

And she flung the red rose to him.

And the roaring of the crowd diminished dramatically, and after a moment, it turned to wild cheering.

"Has anyone seen Bungo?" Gandalf asked, suddenly appearing in time to see Donnamira being escorted down the platform steps by Hugo Boffin. He looked wildly all about him. All shook their heads.

And then they all started at the sound of a small voice above them. "Look behind you!"

They looked up to see little Mirabella sitting upon the rail on the high platform, pointing out in the crowd. All turned...and there was Bungo indeed...

...with Belladonna on his arm, smiling adoringly.

"Well, I'll...be...fixed!" was all Gandalf could find to say. A wave of laughter followed his words.

"I told her all," Bungo explained a little later, as Belladonna's parents followed close upon, Hildebrand and Isembard filling them in. "And I read her my poem. It seems she has loved me for quite some time now, although she knows I am no singer. That was why she would not sit on the platform. We were thinking of running off together, but decided that would not be honorable. And now I have spoken for her, and she has accepted me, if her parents are amenable to it."

"Do you mean to tell me you were planning this all along, Bungo Baggins?" Gandalf exclaimed.

"Oh no, sir. All I told you concerning Miss Belladonna was the truth. I'm not good enough of an actor to put one over on you, Gandalf, I fear. But I _am_ a good vintner, and I assure one and all I am most capable of taking care of Miss Belladonna for all the days of my life."

Bungo raised his eyebrows to Gerontius and Adamanta Took, saying, "Good Thain, will you please to forgive me for my, erm, heedless conduct, and allow me to make it up to you by proving myself worthy of your daughter?"

A collective sigh went through the onlookers at this heartfelt plea. Adamanta tried not to smile, but her mouth would quirk up until it looked very like Belladonna's which was doing the same thing. Then both mother and daughter began to giggle, until they fell into each other's arms, laughing helplessly, at what it was anybody's guess, but the sound was so contagious it spread throughout the bystanders, including Gerontius.

And after there was a lull, Hugo stepped forward, saying, "And I would like to ask permission to woo Miss Donnamira, who has taken my heart and claimed it for her own. I know she is not yet of age, but I am willing to wait for however long it takes until she is old enough to accept my offer of marriage. I have my own establishment as you know, and will work as hard as I can to make enough to show her the extent of my devotion."

Another soft murmur went through the crowd. And many began chattering all at once, until little Isengar picked up the sack Gandalf had been carrying, lying forgotten on the ground, saying, "What's in this, Wizard?"

"I will show you, my lad," Gandalf said smiling, wrenching his eyes with difficulty from the lovers. And before long, the night sky was full of exploding stars and colored fire-snakes and whirling flowers and dragons and whistling streamers, as Gandalf showed the Took brothers, both the small one and the big ones, what those things that made the frightful popping noises did. Music had begun playing once more, and several couples danced, including Bungo and Belladonna.

"I wonder where Roddy is now," Hugo said. "I feel badly for him still. That trick you played upon him was really just a bit much, Gandalf, if I may be so bold."

"Trick?" Gandalf looked at him blankly. "I did not play the trick."

"You didn't?"

"Nay. I did not even stick around to hear him sing the entire song, for I was worried about Bungo. Wonderful song, by the way, Hugo. Beautiful job. If I were a maiden, I think I'd have fallen for you myself."

"Thank you, sir. But if you did not trick him, then who did?"

"I dare say he tricked himself. I took pity upon him, you see, and decided not to go through with our plan. And I do not think I shall live to regret it, for the liquor and his own bloated ego were what punished him in the end. There was no need for any petty vengeance from us."

Hugo grinned in relief. "That's good of you, sir. And I am profoundly grateful for the part you played in bringing me and my beloved together. I will forever be in your debt, my dear Wizard."

"Look," Donnamira said, nodding her head, "there he is, over there."

All looked, and saw Roderic Bunce standing at an ale-keg, apparently arguing with someone behind it.

Before anyone could remark, a female voice spoke up, "Beggin' yer pardon sir, but I been watching, and was wondering what yer want for these here?"

A stout hobbitess stood next to Gandalf, holding up a string of firecrackers.

The Wizard shrugged goodnaturedly. "Take them, my dear. I'm sure your children will enjoy them greatly. Here's a lighted stick for you."

"Thank ye, good sir," she said, and disappeared amongst the crowd.

Moments later, a rapid series of explosions were heard, and there was Roddy, leaping in crazed arcs as the popping sounds issued right behind him, sparks flying out from beneath the cloak he still wore, yells and whoops and howls coming out of his mouth. When the sounds ceased he stopped his wild dance, clapping his hands to his backside and looking blankly all around him.

"Did anyone hear something?" he asked after a moment, then swayed, and fell flat on his face, amid much laughter.

"Well done, Miss Button," a male voice said. "May I have the honor of this dance?"

"Well, I don't mind if I does," said the voice of the hobbitess who had begged the firecrackers.

Gandalf made a move toward the prone figure, but two hobbits got there first.

"We'll take 'im, guv'ner," said one of them, and they each took an arm and dragged Roderic off toward the tent, which was now being used for just such a purpose. "Come, Roddy, time for bed. Let me and Uncle Ruben tuck yer in now. That was some row, I must say. Last time such a thing happened to _me _was when Lily served up her famous three-bean soup, garnished with cabbage-leaves. Good thing there weren't no fire nearby."

Mirabella stood up on the rail on the platform, unnoticed by her parents, tiptoeing back and forth, then doing a graceful little twirl and looking up in hope of more fireworks. Someone had lit a torch up on the platform, and the light brought out red-gold sparks in her hair and fairly irradiated her all over. But she was entirely unaware of it, and she continued her walk upon the rail until she caught sight of a boy looking up at her. He seemed most fascinated, as though a vision of pure loveliness had caught and pinned him where he stood. She lowered herself until she was kneeling on the rail, then sitting back with her hands upon her knees, still looking down at him. He was a little older than herself, very nice to look at, for a boy, and so she stayed where she was, just gazing with her luminous eyes, and smiling.

Until a female voice called out stridently, "Gorbadoc Brandybuck! Whatever are you doing? And what have you done with your little brothers? Come now, we must be going, if we can round up your brothers and your dad. Come along now, lad. What are you staring at?"

After Gandalf ran out of fireworks, he found he was thirsty, and went to fetch himself a glass of wine. As he did so, he noticed Porphyria Button going in the direction of the tent, and as she went inside it, he shook his head, then smiled and shrugged, glancing upward. After persuading Mirabella to come down from the rail, he took her by the hand and they went back to rejoin the rest of her family in the gently settling merriment of the spring evening.

***Finis***


End file.
